an early morning

She is just sleeping.

She is just waking.

It is the early hours of the morning.

The grass is wet, dripping of dew.

The dew is fresh, as it is every morning,

She rolls over, facing the sky.

She watches the clouds roll over her.

The sky changes colour;

from navy to orange

to pink to indigo

to periwinkle blue .

She watched the stars black out last night.

She watched them slide over the sky,

they danced her to sleep late in the evening.

But still she rises early.

She cannot sleep past the waking of the sun.

She gathers daisies from the grass;

picks them and pulls them

and makes them into a daisy chain.

She thinks it should hurt,

but the water does not fall from her eyes.

It as if he cried for her,

his tears fallen on the grass like dew.

His grace, his mercy, afresh in the morning.

She is washed. And not of her on own effort,

But by resting in this place.


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